


Like Old Times

by TheSeeingStar



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Cool D&D spells that really exist, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of guilt and angst, Poor Eodwulf, Trigger warning for discussion of abuse, gratuitous reunion sex, is it Thursday yet?, it's Caleb go figure, it's head canon till proven otherwise, spoilers for episode 88
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21825574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSeeingStar/pseuds/TheSeeingStar
Summary: *Spoilers for episode 88!*Caleb takes a trip down memory lane. What he finds there is a revelation more surprising than he bargained for.(There’s a little Nein and Blumentrio goodness mixed in with all the hurt, just for good measure.)
Relationships: Astrid/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71





	Like Old Times

**Author's Note:**

> So after that whopping great revelation Liam just decided to casually dump on us at the end of the episode, I had to get this out before it’s totally blown out of the water on Thursday! It’s been floating around my head for a while now, purely self-indulgent, but then that’s just what fanfic is about isn’t it? Man oh man oh man, I can’t wait for Thursday!

Sneaking away from the rest of the Nein had been easier than he'd thought. Just a mumbled excuse about needing some time to himself and a covert detour through the back door at the Kamaruth Cottage was all it had taken.

Now, walking through the tidy, clean streets of the Shimmer Ward alone, Caleb wonders if that should worry him. That maybe they had trusted him so easily because this is a monumentally stupid idea. He can’t blame them, if that is what they'll think when they realise he’s gone. He’s sure he’ll get a good telling off when he returns.

_If_ he returns.

He’s really not sure how Astrid will receive him, but having even just those brief few words with Wulf at the Asylum gives him a tiny glimmer of hope. Hope that at the very least maybe she won’t kill him.

Not immediately anyway. If she lets him in he thinks he’s probably going to end up telling her that Trent implanted memories into their heads so that they would murder their parents, and then who knows what she’ll do. It’s a terrible idea, and ultimately an unkind one too if he’s honest, but Wulf just had to go and give him hope and Trent bastard Ikithon won’t be there and maybe, just maybe, it’s the best chance he’ll ever get to... what, save them? _Save yourself more like_ , that niggling little voice in the back of his skull sneers, _Bren the snivelling little orphan just doesn’t want to feel alone any more._

Maybe that is true. But he’s hardly in the right frame of mind to question it, so he keeps on walking and before long he’s standing at the black wrought iron gates of the mansion wondering what the fuck he’s doing here. Before he can even wrap his head around that question, he's pushing the double gates open and continuing on up the white gravel path towards the house. Next thing he knows he’s rapping the heavy worn brass door knocker against the varnished oak doors and waiting for a response.

It’s only now that he suddenly comes to his senses and starts to panic, because what the actual fuck is he doing here? She’s hardly going to be pleased to see him, when he must have been such a disappointment to her. And it was so long ago too, she’s definitely going to have moved on with her life and has probably forgotten all about him. He thinks that might just hurt more than her killing him.

Jester's voice, sounding as panicked as he feels, suddenly bursts into his head. " _Cayleb! Are you ok? Did Trent Ickython kidnap you? It’s ok Cayleb, we’re going to find you and we’re going to murder him! Where are..!"_

He feels instantly guilt ridden that he didn’t let them know he was going, but he knows they never would have allowed it, that this was the only way. "I'm fine Jester," he replies under his breath, counting the words carefully, "I haven’t been kidnapped, I just went for a walk. I needed some space to think. I’ll be back soon."

Likely another lie, but he’s told so many in his life they hardly matter any more. At least nowadays he’s usually telling them for good reasons instead of cruel. The metallic scraping sound of a bolt being pulled back on the other side of the door jolts him back into the present, and his heart stops momentarily as it begins to slowly open with a creak of well-worn age.

An older human woman stands hunched in the doorway in simple servant's garb, and he breaths a nearly audible sigh of relief. Of course they would have servants. Got to be some perks to this nightmare job of theirs. "Ja?" She asks, voice quiet and thready with age.

"Guten tag Oma, I am here to see Astrid. Is she available?" He tries to keep his voice confident, as though he’s meant to be here unannounced at the door of his ex-lover who might murder him on sight.

The old woman looks him up and down with her beady eyes, peering over the tops of her silver rimmed spectacles suspiciously. "Who sent you?"

"Master Trent Ikithon." The name still tastes disgusting on his tongue and he hears the falter in his voice as he says it. He can tell the old woman is unconvinced. "...I am a spokesperson for the Mighty Nein who are currently working alongside the Assembly in the war effort."

After a moment of indecision, she turns away and begins to close the door. Probably for the best, he thinks to himself before she says "Wait here." The door closes in his face and he lets out a shuddering breath. He counts the seconds as they pass, ten, twenty, thirty, forty... He thinks about just leaving now, before it’s too late. His stomach churns, and at seventy seconds he begins to turn to go, his legs like jelly, but the door creaks again behind him and when he turns his head it’s Astrid standing there, face stern as it almost always was.

Her hair is a little longer, still short but closer to her shoulders now. Her face has lost some of the softness of youth, but if anything it’s made her even more beautiful, angular and hard with well defined cheek bones. She hasn’t grown in height and seems even smaller than she used to, a trick of his own height having gained a few inches in the later stages of puberty. She’s wearing similar clothes to what he saw Eodwulf in earlier, but her dark tunic is covered with a short red robe, much less formal. He knows he’s staring like a rabbit in torchlight, but he can’t seem to move, let alone speak.

She rises up on her toes for a second to look over his shoulder. "Really? You came on your own? You used to be smarter than that Bren." Her voice is marginally deeper than it used to be, and he thinks if she did kill him now it really wouldn’t be so bad if that was the last voice he ever got to hear. "Come on. I assume you want to talk." She turns and strides away, leaving the door open for him to follow. As he steps inside and closes it with a heavy thunk, following her rapidly retreating form, he thinks that’s a good sign that maybe she trusts him. Then his brain fog clears enough to realise that it’s more likely to be completely justified confidence in her abilities to destroy him if he tries anything.

The entry hall of the mansion is cavernous and light, an enormous glass arched skylight filling the space with a soft white glow. The walls are tastefully whitewashed and there are high quality carpets of deep blues and greens on the polished wood floors. Varnished oak tables dot the edges of the space, some holding bronze or marble ornaments, others holding richly decorated vases of fresh flowers, and large paintings of gentle country scenes hang on any wall with space to take them. Straight ahead of him a wide oak staircase dominates the space, splitting off into two balconied landings running parallel above him. It’s the last thing Caleb expects, so domestic and innocent looking. He had pictured something more akin to the dark, dreary memories he has of Trent's personal abode. But he supposes he’s built Trent and the scourgers up in his mind over the years as bloodthirsty monsters, and not for the first time he begins to doubt his perspective of what happened all those years ago.

Feeling numb and lightheaded, he follows Astrid through one of the six doors leading off the entrance hall into an equally light and airy sitting-room, this time painted a soft blue with floor to ceiling windows, high backed chairs grouped around a blazing hearth, and yet more scenic artwork. Astrid sits in one of the chairs and after some hesitation, he sits opposite her, straight back and tense shoulders a stark contrast against her relaxed posture.

"You’re back then." She states bluntly.

"No. Not back, just passing through." His mouth is dry, voice scratchy in his throat.

"Probably for the best. With your group of misfits, you wouldn’t last long in this city without Master Ikithon's protection."

He almost scoffs at that, but bites his tongue instead. "You know about my friends then?"

"We’ve known about you all for some time." Her voice is full of a familiar air of superiority that he used to share long, long ago. "A tip from an old friend - don’t let them write letters in future."

His answering smile is weak but fond. "We’ve done alright so far." She presses a finger against her pursed lips, unamused.

"You look better than the last time I saw you, that’s certainly true." He winces. His memory of that night is only a set of grim flashbacks, but he can imagine what it must have looked like from her perspective. He must have been a truly pathetic sight to behold.

"I’m sorry." He says simply, eyes cast down to his shoes. He wishes he could summon Frumpkin to give his trembling hands something to do, but he must already look embarrassingly feeble enough. She doesn’t respond, and eventually he glances up to meet her eye. She’s frowning at him questioningly, but there’s no doubt it’s tinged with concern.

"Why?"

"For failing. For being a disappointment. For... what I need to tell you." He speaks the last apology so quietly that part of him hopes she may have missed it.

"And what exactly is it that you need to tell me?" Her eyes are stern once more, their former concern evaporated.

Again he thinks perhaps he got it wrong. That while there’s no doubting that what Trent did to their memories was awful, that they were going to be doing despicable but necessary work to keep the Empire safe, and that Trent had to be certain they were up to the task before they graduated. It makes sense if he squints. That he’s turned it all around in his head to alleviate his own guilt and make Trent the villain. That if he was abused, it was his fault for not recognising it sooner and walking away.

He suddenly remembers Beau and Nott's insistence that he wasn’t to blame, and although he still doesn’t agree with them completely, it gives him the strength to admit to himself that he was a victim, and that at least was not his fault. That Astrid and Eodwulf were victims too and deserve to know the extent of what was done to them.

He feels sick, but he manages to look Astrid in the eye. "Trent implanted false memories into our heads to make us believe our parent's were traitors. But they weren’t Astrid. Please believe me, they weren’t. It was all a test of our devotion to him. They were innocent and he made us kill them."

She’s silent for a while, studying him intently, her expression unreadable. He thinks that at any moment he’s going to feel her dagger slashing into his throat, blood spray staining the expensive furniture as he dies. But she remains unnervingly calm.

"I know." Is all she says, but it’s a shock to his system that he wasn’t expecting.

"You know? And you stayed?" He thinks back to the scourger in the Dungeon of Penance and wonders if maybe that isn’t as surprising as it sounds. He realises he should have expected it.

She doesn’t answer, instead reaching into her robes. When her hand emerges again with two small pieces of what look to be eggshells and starts to make symbols in the air as she chants under her breath, he tenses, expecting an attack and preparing to cast dispel.

"Don’t fight it." She almost whispers as he feels a strange crackling sensation in the air around him. Tentatively he gives in to her spell, little prickling tendrils poking into his mind.

" _Now that we definitely can’t be heard, and I trust you’re not going to go running to Ikithon, I have a revelation of my own._ " Her voice sounds in his mind without her lips moving. He remembers reading about a telepathy spell once, but to experience it first hand is an entirely new level of strange.

" _Does this broadcast all of my thoughts or just the ones I want you to hear?"_

She gives a wry smile. " _Just what you want me to hear but it can be tricky to begin with so be mindful."_

" _Noted_."

Her expression becomes serious again and he can see that she’s trying to put the words together in her head before she sends him her thoughts. " _What I’m about to tell you needs to stay between just us. If you tell anyone, even the people you travel with, Eodwulf and I might both be killed. And he wouldn’t just kill us, he’s more sadistic now than you'd remember. I’ve witnessed him torture those who have betrayed him first hand. He takes them to the edge of death before having them healed, over and over again, for days. It’s not something I particularly relish the thought of so please keep your mouth shut."_

He nods weakly, devoid of words.

She continues, looking him straight in the eye, fingers steepled beneath her chin in a tell-tale gesture he remembers well as betraying her nerves. " _It was fortunate, wasn’t it, that old cleric woman being admitted to the asylum just days before the antimagic field collapsed. And that when it did, a guard just happened to be standing close enough to the bars of your communal cell, keys on full display."_

Caleb feels his face drain of colour.

"How..?" He breathes, unable to gather his thoughts enough to use the psychic link. She frowns and presses a finger to her lips.

" _I don’t think you want or need to know my nefarious methods."_

" _Please... I know you well enough to gather it wasn’t through the kindness of strangers. I want to know the lengths you and Eodwulf went to."_

" _He didn’t. But he knows what I did and hasn’t handed me in to Ikithon, that’s more than enough to get him killed. It took over a year of planning. I studied whenever I could to be able to dispel at the level required, I found the old woman in a prison in Hupperdook, paid her family a visit to take a few fingers as proof and told her I’d go back and murder them if she didn’t feign madness to be admitted to the asylum as an unstable magic user. I compelled the guard, cast the dispel and left to let it all play out. You played your part as brilliantly as I’d hoped you would."_

He feels his ears flush pink. " _And loose ends? How many people died to break me out?"_

" _Only a few. I’m very good at covering my tracks, it’s in the job description. The more deaths, the more obvious the trail leading back to me."_

" _Why didn’t you come with me? Why stay and continue to do his work when you know what he did to us all, both of you?"_

" _Because we couldn’t. We can’t leave. The medallions protect from scrying, but once we graduate and become Vollstrecker, they take our blood. They can use it to track our rough location anywhere on this plain."_ He thinks back to the Nein's earlier conversation with Ludinus Da'Leth where he mentioned this very tactic had been used to track Vence, and to the Gentleman's insistence on taking their blood. " _We’re trapped. But I could get you out. So I did."_

He’s not sure how to feel about that. It’s all too much to take in. What she did for him, what Wulf has risked by not turning her in, how many people suffered just for his freedom. The fact that being in Trent's orbit for just a few days makes his skin crawl, how must she and Wulf feel trappedwith the man for the rest of their lives...

" _It’s ok. This job doesn’t exactly have a long lifespan attached."_ She smiles at him, and he realises he’s been broadcasting all his jumbled thoughts to her. Tears form in the corners of his eyes, prickling hot before they spill over, and next thing he knows she’s there, kissing them away just as she used to when Trent had been particularly rough with him. Except it's not fair, because this time it's her who's had the harder end of the deal.

He drags his mouth up to hers, kissing her hard and barely guarding his thoughts across the psychic link. " _I love you. Want you. Need you. Gods I love you._ " She moans into his mouth and bites down on his bottom lip. He pulls away with a hiss and she grabs him by the lapels, dragging him up out of the chair and leading him towards one corner of the room. Her hands move to his jaw as soon as he complies, yanking his mouth back to hers.

" _Can’t be seen here. Windows."_

It’s a sign of what her life has become, even more so than his own has ever been, constantly looking over her shoulder, casing every room she enters, being in control all the time. And here she is, apparently coping well enough to send at least half intelligible messages through a psychic connection while she kisses him senseless. His thoughts drift again to all that she did to free him, to how strong she is, and he knows it’s wrong, but the thought of her killing for him sends a spike of arousal straight to his groin. For the first time in so long, he let’s go of anxiety ridden, subdued, repressed Caleb, and lets the memory of Bren drive for a bit, temporary confidence flooding through him.

She shoves his coat down his arms as their tongues duel, and he shrugs off his book holsters with it, hearing the tomes thud to the floor behind him. She ditches her own robe as his hands find her hips, fumbling with the catch on her trousers for a moment before yanking them down along with her underwear, bending to shove them far enough that she can kick them off, which she does, along with her shoes. He yearns to taste her, to bury his mouth in her folds till she mewls just like old times, but he wants to be inside her more and with her bottom half bare, he grabs her arse and lifts her. Her legs wrap tight around his hips as he closes the last few steps to the wall and presses her hard into it. He grinds against her, sucking on her tongue.

" _Fucking tease._ " Her voice growls through the link as he smirks against her jaw. Yanking his head back harshly by his hair, she nips at his exposed neck. He groans deep in his throat, one hand gripping hard at her hip, the other manoeuvring between them enough to unfasten his trousers. One of his knuckles unintentionally slips between her folds as he releases the button, and the hot gasp of her breath against his trachea makes him growl. " _Keep... fuck Bren... keep quiet. Mustn’t be heard."_ She breaks the connection then, and he thinks that’s probably for the best because he has no chance of ordering what thoughts he wants to send at the moment.

The instant his cock is free he thrusts up into her. She grips his hair tighter but he tilts his head forward anyway, ignoring the pain in his scalp to bring them nose to nose as he begins to move, their breath mingling in short gasps and pants. His thrusts are hard and quick and desperate. After almost seventeen years apart, this was never going to last long. Her nails rake down the sweat soaked shirt still covering his back and he wishes he could feel the bite of them leaving red raw tracks on exposed skin. He braces one hand on the wall above her shoulder, nails clawing at the paintwork as he feels his balls tighten, and frantically tries to hold back his orgasm. She drops her head down to where his neck and shoulder meet, sucking a mark into the skin there as he groans, breathing out her name hoarsely.

He feels her blunt teeth pierce the skin over the mark as she comes silently, reminding him just in time to keep a lid on the loud moan that almost rips free of his throat as her contracting inner muscles milk his aching cock and he empties himself into her. He manages a strangled gasp that he hopes was quiet enough, the sound of blood rushing in his ears dulling his hearing.

His knees threaten to give out but he holds steady, both of them panting and sweaty as they come down from the high and it’s perfect. Just as he presses a kiss to her forehead, they both startle as the door clicks open. Eodwulf stops short when he sees them together, before rolling his eyes and continuing into the room, closing the door behind him. Astrid's head falls back against the wall with a deep sigh.

"Just like old times." Their friend grunts, an edge of familiar irritation to his voice. Caleb can’t help a little smile into her neck at the memory of him walking in on them in the act repeatedly when they were young, before they enforced the sock on the door handle rule. He shifts his weight to let her down, steadying her before tucking himself back into his trousers. "You told him then. Stupid."

She pads irritably over to her discarded trousers, snatching them up off the floor. "Shut up. He needed to know."

"He did not." Eodwulf points a finger menacingly towards Caleb. "You tell anyone, we die. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, we covered that already, thank you for your input." She glares at the larger man, fastening her trousers and picking up her robe. "What are you doing back anyway? I thought Ikithon had you on guard duty all day today?"

"Turns out he only needed me for the morning." He looks pointedly at Caleb, and even in his still lust hazed frame of mind, he can infer the meaning behind it. Trent had anticipated that the Nein would accompany Ludinus to inspect the Luxon and had his old friend on duty just to throw him off guard. Nothing he didn’t expect of the man by now. He’d suspected as much as soon as he’d caught sight of Eodwulf in the arcane laboratory.

Picking up his coat and book holster, he shrugs them on awkwardly, sensing that his visit has met its natural end if the tension in the room is anything to go by. "I should go. I swear I will not tell anyone your secret. Not one person." He stops to kiss Astrid on the top of her head as he passes by her, but she catches his hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"You mustn’t come here again Bren. Not ever. Go and live your life. Preferably far away from here, and from the war. The best thing you can do is forget about us."

Caleb smiles at her fondly, the confidence of his brief stint acting like Bren not having quite left him completely yet. "You mistake my character if you think that’s going to happen. I know I’m a broken shadow of the boy you once knew, but I am going to kill that man. You mark my words."

Her eyes narrow. "It can’t be done. Don’t be ridiculous." She whispers fiercely.

"Oh it can. Me and my friends, we’ve done things you wouldn’t believe. When the time is right, we’ll do that too."

He turns and heads for the door, wishing he could feel as confident as he sounds. Perhaps that tide has been turning recently though, without him even knowing it. He thinks back to his state when the Nein formed, weak, cowed, scared of shadows and occasionally raving with leftover madness. Caleb notes that the change in himself has been nothing short of miraculous. The mere idea of returning to Rexxentrum would have once sent him catatonic, now here he is striding along the streets of that very city to meet his friends. It’s enough to make him wonder just maybe if his own growth has been possible to this degree, they might have half a hope of actually doing what they’ve pledged to do. Ending this war peacefully, ridding the world of the Tharizdun cult, and taking down the rotten elements of the Assembly, Trent along with it. Suddenly, it doesn’t all seem quite as impossible to him as it did a few hours ago.

**Author's Note:**

> (The spell Astrid uses to form the psychic link is called Telepathic Bond. Could be very useful for the Nein if Caleb learns it at some point. Silent bickering, perfect!)


End file.
